Wondering Pieces
by neohelios
Summary: AU. Mainly Beca's POV. My whole life is a war of boundaries. The lines Between Life and Death. Between Yes and No. Between Me and Not Me.
1. Who Am I?

I think  
Who is this I call  
My soul (whose calm)?  
(Or whose storm to calm).  
Stuck in startling search  
I feed on silence a lot  
(to be strong).  
And I seek my shape  
In the depth of closeness  
And farness (both are like dance).  
And I distribute myselves in strange words  
Three dimensionally,  
To accommodate my imagination  
Yet, again I ask, who am I?

 **October 10 2014**

My name is Beca.

When I think about my name I think about cones mostly. The cones I mean, that grow on pine trees. Sometimes I envision this deep forest, the breadth of it reaching further than my imagination and in there these quiet pine trees standing still, unperturbed, knowing. I think about time and about how time probably forgets that it is flowing, when it's around these pine trees.

But I'm getting carried away. mostly I just imagine the cones. How they come out, how they grow, maintaining their initial structure. I imagine what they are like - dry, edgy, humorless.

These three words obviously also apply to me. I always felt like that. lacking moisture, joy and curves. Which can also be said literally, but that's not the point. The point is that I do am, edgy, I mean. I can think about million perspectives to align this word to myself. I am neurotic, easily irritable, constantly wanting to get to the line. wondering just what's there at the border, what's there after this one step, what's there on the unknown land I haven't seen. Do I want to?

I am Beca and this is the story of my life. No, that's not right. This is not a story because I have no idea how to write stories, so let's just call it a store (very original) for my random, inadequate thoughts, which I don't know how to express any other way. I can't sing, I can't paint, I can't cook... In fact if I think about it I can't write either but in contrast to singing or painting - I can try.

So yeah, basically, most of the time I have no clue what goes in my head and I came up with this idea, to try and make sense of them by putting all on paper, or on screen as in right now. there will be a lot of rambling I feel. so be it. let's get this ship sailing. in the air. in the colorful air. with triangular air fishes also gliding by. I like triangles. (wow, so much cheer).

Any other angles too, really. There is something fascinating about two lines crawling, crawling and then, suddenly, crossing and creating this elegant gulf, this handsome surprise. How amazing is that? the dwelling place emerging so effortlessly, naturally, selflessly. This is how I think of beauty. Something that takes you beyond possibilities. Something that has a mind of it's own. Beauty feels like yielding into something that is grander than you. Nietzsche would say that beauty is Dionysian. (I really liked that essay).

In a way beauty is an escape. you escape yourself, you escape ordinary life, you escape continuousness. It's like all other times are similar bits and pieces of similar common experiences and suddenly you fall into this wholeness of feeling - like a carnival.

But where was I? yeah, my store of thoughts and all that shit. What should I name thee? Something classical, mythological maybe? Pandora's box? No, that's too grim and inappropriate, even though this idea stems from my curiosity to unwrap myself, my plan definitely doesn't include unleashing all kinds of ailing and misery on the world. So no, and pandora is a bit too feminine for my liking. My diary is certainly not female. that would be illogical. So I think it will be… The Weird Fish. yes, that's it. I like that. You will be my weird fish. (again, so original Beca).

So what do you want to know diary dearest? Where should I start? Maybe in the middle?

October 2011 I think - the beginning of my senior year of undergraduate studies. I feel like I want to ease into it. I don't know I feel like I should talk about the "preliminary period" if it even can be called that. A time before everything in my personal life will start to change and head in another direction. But that doesn't seem quite right. Rather I should say a time before my life would swerve and once again head in the wrong direction.

Yes, That's more accurate. My life is a collection of wrong directions. Always heading somewhere it weren't supposed to go. As soon as one trail draws to a close another faulty one starts, like an extension of a disease. Reins let go. The horse galloping meaninglessly through the dunes and the sand is everywhere, everywhere endlessly, going on and on, perpetuating emptiness which is unreal.

October of 2011 was the same as October 2010. I was a stranger. Other people were not. I missed classes or just mentally missed, other people didn't. I was queer, rigid and inhibited. Others were normal. I was very solitary yet never felt alone. I was closed off, isolated, distanced. Yet I felt like I was a gift to the world and to my peers which they couldn't appreciate because they didn't have the appropriate eyes to SEE ME. I was conceited, hungry for attention and my peers disliked me. They couldn't figure out what kind of product I was. And I was a very uneasy one to deal with.

It makes me smile now. I have grown I guess. But it is such a bittersweet feeling. Sometimes I want to ask myself what would I prefer? would I prefer not growing up and possibly still being that arrogant, looking down at others, still being - that sensitive towards everything, that self-conscious and broody, proper, starved, strange, emotionally underdeveloped, with distasteful superior attitude that made everyone hate me. I looked at people as though they were blind and I was the only one who could see. I looked down on people. I wanted to tell them - "I know and you don't", "Your life is superficial, your desires impertinent" - oh, so high and almighty! I thrust my mental pincers where they were not asked for or welcome. And people were not people for me - they were experiments. They were food. To be observed, to be mentally digested and spiritually eaten.

I remember her only in theory. this is how far the "aftermath" went: erasing almost every emotional attachment or understanding I might have had with my previous self. I remember her like one remembers somebody else's story. You know it happened, maybe you even were there but you can't understand the narrator at all, can't relate to her/him. It is just a story, like any other story, a mix of words and instances that has some importance to somebody. But not to you. One day I could wake up and convince myself that I had different major and total blast at university and that would be as much a truth as this. As real. Because the past is not real.

There is a rupture in the line.

 **October 13 2014**

When I was young my grandfather used to say that things always come together. As time flows and seasons change (that was his second favourite topic by the way) life reveals itself and the threads entwine, in a peculiar, enthralling manner that you could never have predicted yourself and that is the magic of life.

Well I am 24 now and life has not revealed much to me.  
Except probably these three things: I don't know who I am. I don't know who I want to be. I don't know if I can ever know any of the other two.

 **October 14 2014**

It used to be worse. It is better now. Remember Beca. You Must Remember. You must fight. You must. Or everything is lost. You are lost. And you should care about that. You are the only thing you have.

 **October 15 2014**

I still can't get out of my head.

Today I was out with Em, we went to this hipster place we like, "Chat Noir", to catch up a bit. There is nothing "Noir" about that place really. It's old tables with flowers and cat's on the walls, some old letters here and there, amiable light and pretty cool atmosphere. I was a bit late when I arrived, Emily was waiting outside as usual, still can't teach that girl to not wait for me. So we went in but my bra straps were slipping all the time on my way to there, so irritating, so I wanted to go to the restroom as fast as possible but guess I was not fast enough. Do I even care? Stacie sat at the back, with her friends and other people. Lily was there too. I wanted to slip past unnoticed. It doesn't matter so why shouldn't I? She saw me so I couldn't just ignore her and go on my way. That would be rude and she'd doubtlessly reprimand me later. She still has this weird habit of demanding I greet her like a proper person. It still doesn't matter. Hadn't mattered for a long while now. We greeted each other. As we occasionally do and went on our separate, merry ways.

Sometimes I wish she and Lily just moved to another town so we don't have to have these pointless, impotent greetings. Greeting people is not difficult for me at all. Greeting Stacie and Lily is not difficult either. I just feel, every time, that it would be better if it was.

 **October 15 2014**

the day i met Stacie is the day i can't remember but she does or she did. she told me. maybe that was the day Stacie met me and not the day i met Stacie. so the day i met Stacie would be at the party. how ironic.

the community had a small gathering at Flu's place and by community i mean gay people, girls, mostly close acquaintances. Flu's real name was Florencia, but everybody called her Flu, she called herself Flu. Flu was this social honey-girl type of a person, she stuck people to herself and liked to constantly be in others' company, i think it was a part of her identity and self realisation, she revelled in introducing people to herself, obviously, and to each other, to bringing these different tones and bashing them together in a chaotic pattern or picture that took a life of its own. Back then i really liked observing and categorizing people, being as detailed as possible. To me Flu was shallow and dramatic, a spectator by nature, she could be watching kangaroo sex on nat geo or stupid cheerleaders bitch at each other on fox tv, yet she chose rather to create her own mini soap opera, always tweaking strings go reveal drama, to concoct something fleshy. In my mind i was the most interesting person, in Flu's mind i was probably a raw, ok-eish meat that leads a mildly uninteresting literaturistic life. yep, her exact words. or rather 'wordishsomethings'. i disliked Flu but I'd never directly tell her that. I disliked Flu and her stupid then-girlfriend Frannie. two peas in a pod. i disliked Flu but Flu didn't dislike me so i was invited and i came. and so did some others. and some of them would have a grandiose impact on my life later.

today i was trying to explain to Em that the united reality or shared reality is an illusion, no such thing exists. people don't share realities, there is no shared reality, everybody is in their own heads, in their own reality and nobody understands anybody else.

sometimes when i sit in the room full of people i think - what is the use of talking, communicating? there is no communication. communication is impossible.

I feel this helplessness yet I know this can't be any other way. once i imagined what it would be like if we could record our experiences like songs and if you could then 'listen' or rather feel somebody else's experience (and feelings), like the way you listen to an mp3 songs on ipod. probably the extension of experience would be 'xps'. but would even experiences converted to 'xps' help me get closer to others? i wonder.

most people don't probably ever notice this but all their so called communication is based on belief. you believe that when you said you are angry i know how angry feels. but do I? do i know how angry feels to you? so easy, so fundamental i don't know how angry feels for you and i can't ever know, because i should be you to know it and i can't be you. so i can't understand you, i can only understand the copy of you in me. it's my reproduction of you. there is no you, i don't understand your anger, i understand my anger and tag your name on it.

sometimes i think what it would be like if we could swap minds temporarily or swap thoughts and emotions, why are we such underdeveloped species? we could have had a consciousness transferring capacities, like bluetooth, i don't know. we don't, so we are stuck in this united aloneness. united aloneness of humanity.


	2. What is the Difference?

Summary: we learn a bit more about Beca and Emily's Friendship. And some other things too.

* * *

"A Leaf - is not a word *Leaf*

A Leaf - is an experience - *Leaf*"

 **October 20, 2014**

I met Emily on my Intro to the Philosophy class that I technically wasn't supposed to be in. and neither was she. we were two outsiders. the most surprising coincidence was that we were both psychology majors. some days in past i often wondered how i got these big, important P's mixed up. I thought it should have been philosophy i majored in, because i hated psych with passion. so why did that happen you ask? I ask myself that often too. The answer is simple and not simple at the same time. These kind of answers never are.

the short version would be that i was young and easily influenced, that my parents wanted me to do something practical, cause what use would a philosophy degree be? did i plan to waste my time and life on something so selfish? did i plan to be jobless and unable to support myself and live financially dependant on my parents?

so somehow that happened. 'Somehow' is the key word. When you are that young, 17, 18, 19 you don't realise the weight of your decisions. you lack foresight. some never really acquire it i guess. but usually it comes with experience. so when you are 18, you have no experience, you are still floating in haze. still instinctual and irresponsible. mostly irresponsible regarding to your life, yourself. Or maybe that was just me.

I was never the kind of kid who knew where she was going, who knew the destination for her aspirations, the numbers she should knock, the path she should conquer. i was just - drifting along with the flow. and as it turns out that could prove very detrimental to someone's future. to exchange momentary thoughtlessness and inertia for several lost years, is it worth it? no, no of course. the problem with me was that i didn't know the price. the bigger problem was that i had an unwillingness to contemplate it. I had an unwillingness to feel the importance of this decision. i didn't want to think about what it meant, nobody told me to. that was not the culture i was raised in. neither globally nor locally.

I regret it to this day.

but i am tired of this topic now. maybe later. anyway back to me and Em's meeting.

As i was saying we met in a philosophy class. The lecturer was an acquaintance of our acquaintance, her name was Elaine, (lecturer's) and she knew i was interested in philosophy from Gail (the acquaintance) and offered to let me attend her class for free, to just listen and enjoy or something. turns out the exact thing happened with Emily, except with different acquaintance. anyway that is not the point. the point is after the second lecture we ended up on the same bus stop. She was wearing red scarf and red sneakers. It was autumn and i was feeling slightly less antisocial than usual. and also strangely in the mood to not be rude. So i said 'hi', she smiled and replied the same, asked me which year i was in. soon we figured out that neither of us were actual students but just lucky trespassers, that we both majored in psychology and thought that we should have studied philosophy instead. we were two of a kind, weren't we? it was such an unlikely occurrence i couldn't not be curious.

when i got at home that night i found her on facebook and messaged her without much deliberation.

Beca : you really like red don't you? do you know what kandinsky says about that color?

Emilie : Yeah, yeah, I do, I love his color theory. which one are you?

Beca : i want to be blue i think.

Emilie : I wear red outside but inside I am divided.

Beca : i don't understand red. but maybe i can understand division.

that is how our friendship started. It was two years ago and we have been going steady since then.

i wasn't looking for friends when i met emily. i was not looking for anything at all. and in that period of my life i was as far away from color red as it gets. practically on another planet where there is no notion of the color red. but her insides balanced her outsides or i just couldn't mind. even somebody like me needed some social interaction, right? and Emily was so easy to be with.

somehow, in a way i still can't figure out, we complement each other. she can talk but she can also be silent, which is a bit perfect for somebody like me. she never demands anything from me, never causes dramatics, never pushes or pulls me. she has this golden talent of letting me be. there is no pressure of 'call me i need to know what's wrong with you'. 'i am your friend you should tell me things', 'i need you and you are not there'. no such things. if there were such things we, with the person i was back then, we would not have lasted a month.

i was very lucky, i am lucky to have met her. i think is she? sometimes i contemplate that. was i what she was looking for in a friend, or was she not looking for anything particular either? did she also enjoy not being bothered or pushed? did she find the boundaries or our relationship satisfactory or did she want something else and i didn't realise?

there are so many questions. our friendship was like a plant in a common street. we would both pass by and nurture it with some substance and attention without deliberately setting out to do so. it was just there and we didn't mind, soon it was our routine.

we shared class, we spoke about literature and philosophy, about music and poetry.

we both loved to read.

Emily loved music more than me, i was more of a lyrics' person. So she explained music and i explained semiotics. She told me about 'serious' movies she had watched.(it was always Ozon, Bergman or something along these lines, like i said, hard stuff, that's why i called them 'serious' movies after all) She loved those movies. I hated 'serious' movies but i told her about what morbid poem i discovered that day and why i liked it so much.

sometimes we went to theater or if it was my pick - some terrible movie that she tolerated for my sake. she had an ocean of patience when it came to me, i mean she has. i made her sit through 'Insurgent' once and that really says something. she abhors such films but tolerated the incentive for me. truth be told i also detested that movie and we agreed to forget we ever saw it. we have a list of movies that we refer to as "films we should forget with unparalleled ardor." most of those are the ones i made her watch, as you probably already guessed.

almost every tuesday we drank the same lemonade at the same cafe and our lemonade-feeded plant just grew by itself.

but i don't know why i wrote all of that in past tense, it's not like everything's not still true. we still do most of the things. many thing have changed and the plant definitely transformed both physically and conceptually. but yeah, these stuff, our routines still stand.

 **27 october, 2014**

I can't. I just can't deal today. I can't deal. everything is wrong. nothing works, nothing is right. i spilled coffee on somebody and the birds were on the fence and then just flew away, and the roads were noisy and loud on the way back and i am sitting on my bed and i can't. stand. can't. why did i do the things i did? why? what was the meaning of all that? why couldn't i have been better? why couldn't i have been right? why can't i ever be right? can i ever be? will it ever be okey? will it ever go away?

some day right? it is possible, i know, theoretically, i know this, you know this, and you need to remember that, even if you forget your whole past, you need to remember that, at least theoretically, get it? it's important. you may not understand how important, but somewhere you were or will be, understands this, and all you need to do now is to just.. hold on to it for the time being. glue it on the fucking wall if you have to. mind matters, mind still matters, mind has its place. okey?

BUT MIND IS NOT HELPING ME, IS IT? SO WHAT THE FUCKING USE DOES IT HAVE TO ME? WHAT THE FUCKING USE DID IT EVER HAVE?

this, this UNSOUND. this is the true hell. this is the rightest punishment. this is what i deserve. this is intolerable, yet there is no other way. it is what it should be. i know i know. oh, god, somebody, whomever, i do know. and that is the hardest. that is the most difficult part. that is what i can't get over. i can't get over it. because there is no her. there is no more Beca. who is Beca Mitchell? where is Beca Mitchell? I don't know Beca Mitchell. I don't remember her. I don't, I don't. I'dont. I don't remember. I don't remember. What did i do?

 **28 October, 2015**

\- that girl is very hot - Emily told me that day, looking sideways at Stacie, lightly, imperceptibly.

there was no question in her eyes, there are never questions in Emily's eyes, only blank spaces, that i can fill with answers if i want to and if not, that's never a problem.

\- yes, she is.

I paused, thinking if i wanted to elaborate, usually i just start and narrate about my past and she just listens, i tell facts and thought i remember happened, reasons and explanations, supposed and actual meanings. I just talk about it like one would deliver a history presentation : this was the year, these were the events, this was what i think caused that event and these are what i think were the consequences. it happened to someone, some time in past, it's past. ( i don't know how she makes sense of the shit i rant about).

But i found myself halting on this one. drawn back into the palimpsest of my mind. traversing memory, or what little of it i retained.

Stacie was difficult to explain, me and Stacie more so. How do i attempt to describe it?

I met Stacie at an alcoholic anonymous meeting. she was wearing an ugly green skirt and a nice sweater. never one for subtlety and grace, more like one for impulsiveness and random bursts of severe lack of tact, i told her exactly that.

I said : 'i think your skirt is an ugly color, it is the color of a lemon, who swallowed too many lemons and got ill', she just stared at me and said nothing for the remainder of the session.

I don't know why i said that to her. i spoke the least on these sessions and never interacted with other people. just sat by myself, bored out of my mind, thinking how useless and meaningless the whole thing was.

But when Stacie entered the group she was so lanky and so hot, she burned everyone's attention away from themselves for once, made them lose track of their thoughts. She was that flaming and vigorous. She seemed like a festival of a person. There was no stopping her, she was insanely energetic and an insufferable flirt. often the session leader would have to ask her to abate ( who says that really? did he think up a comparison or something, like was she was a sea or ocean in his mind? whatever ), which sounded to me more like 'please, have mercy on these poor souls and me, before we fall into another obsession that these tasteless sessions can't cure'. She'd cool down than, a bit, but that never really lasted.

With Stacie attending i found myself more motivated to also not altogether skip these things, she was rather entertaining, you couldn't be bored in her presence, there was just this aura about her. charged, buoyant, lioness-like. i don't know. that's how it felt.

after our initial fiasco of a beginning, which was really my fiasco, (truthfully, i wanted to rectify that someway but couldn't somehow bring myself to) we didn't interact much, which is why it's rather peculiar that we found ourselves on our first date two weeks later.

how did that come about? well, that is an interesting phenomenon, as is, or was our whole relationship.

on the tenth day of our slippery acquaintance, (i think it was the tenth yeah) i got a message. from Stacie. who knew nothing about me, except something that suggested i was probably a capricious jerk.

so color me surprised when that happened, but color me shocked when i actually read her message, no, not message, it was a letter. but it was not just a letter, it was more like a breathing stone, with myriad of colors, tossed in the air of uncertainty, from a stranger, towards a stranger, to catch and admire. And catch i did. and i would learn later that she was and wasn't surprised at the same time. which was an unconventional thing to say, but so was Stacie.

and anyway, if we are talking about surprises, out of the two of us she was always the bigger one.

 **October 23, 2014**

Emily called today, all excited about her possibly new crush. She met her at the art center, where she works. God, so many 'she's', that is a really negative side effect of gayness. you can never figure out which 'she' is the 'she' one means! pretty irritating. anyway, Emily is the one who works at the art center as an art therapist (she actually found a facet of her education she doesn't completely hate to put to use, on the contrary, in reality she quite likes it there) and this new girl just switched to her class, from another group. Ems told me, she is not sure if she is gay or not, which is a good doubt for Emily to have, cause frankly speaking her gayday sucks, it sucks more than my speaking ability, so you get the idea, or you don't. because you are a diary i write in, and have no idea that writing and talking are two different things when it comes to me, i am horrible at talking.

where was i?

so yes, emily's gaydar is a major suckfeets. she never, ever gets it right, ever. it's more like anti-gaydar in most cases. if she thinks the girl is gay, you can be like 95% sure that she is totally straight, so yeah, no help to herself, that one.

so i asked her to show me this girl, to run her in my admittedly better gaydar. figures, no triggers for me, that chick looks rather straight - unfortunately for Em, but who knows? I wish Emily could get with a girl she likes for once. than she could be excited and i could somewhat share her excitement, cause when it comes to me, there is not much hope, or at all (no magic on this side). I don't crush. I mean i don't ever like anybody, i haven't experienced attraction in years. I forgot how that feels. i just remember or have a general knowledge that it must be nice. but i seem to have lost that file from my system. it either got erased or misplaced, altered during one of the many reboots. i don't know.

I just know that i don't feel like that anymore. it just is not there.

many things are not, so, yeah. what gives.

I studied Emily's reactions, observing them live and in writing, when she messaged me about it: the excitement, giddiness, pleasant trepidation. to me those seem like strange creatures from another realm. i watch and watch them and can't make sense, where or why or how they came about, or what their nature is. or how come i know their names and characteristics but still can't understand them. can't grasp them at all. it's so weird. like watching a picture with a triangle on it, but not really seeing it, just with the help of math swiftly calculating that triangle is what must be displayed on it. but you don't really perceive the triangle, you compute it.

so you tell me, does it matter how you arrive at the answer?

What is the difference?

* * *

 _Notes: (Please excuse my spelling or grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, I don't have a beta and this is my first attempt at writing anything) Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy and if you've got questions, ask away._


	3. What is A Meeting?

Summary : We learn more about Beca and Stacie (Part 1)

* * *

There are many kinds of products between two people.

And many kinds of loss.

* * *

November 1, 2014

I watered the plants today. I was thinking how they probably were waiting for it. How they probably needed water. and were waiting for me to bring it to them. and then i stood in the middle of the room and wanted to cry and couldn't.

I can't. and maybe i was doing it wrong, approaching this crying thing wrong, and maybe crying means something else and i am doing it wrong.

maybe i am doing the whole living thing wrong.

isn't crying supposed to be easy? isn't crying supposed to be like - how you can't not cry, cannot help yourself but cry?

and is not life supposed to be also like that? like you cannot help but live? Cannot help but want to live.

so why is it not so for me?

November 3, 2014

Me and Stacie agreed to meet at the local Tea Cafe. We were both tea persons it seems. when i arrived Stacie was already seated at the table of her choice. (she picked the place and she picked the table. she picked me also, didn't she?)

I was 20 and i have never been on a date before. this was going to be my first ever experience and i was a bit nervous. i didn't know a damn thing about dates. didn't know how it was supposed to feel, how i was suppose to behave, didn't knew a thing at all, so in my mind i was already inclined to let her guide this.

i don't remember what i was wearing, i never remember clothes somehow, unsurprisingly.( because my memory has never been my strong suit. )

yeah, so i don't remember what i was dressed in but i do remember what she was wearing. you guessed, didn't you? yes, to nobody's astonishment she was wearing the same skirt, i not so delicately condemned in our first ever interaction. i chuckled, and determined that i really liked her shirt, and light blue sneakers were really nice, if not very Stacie at first glance.

there were a lot of things that were not at all what you would expect with Stacie.

We sat in the far east corner. the cafe was… different, i have not been there before. it wouldn't have been my first choice. it had too much brown and a sense of buried-ness about it, earthly heaviness, but lacking plants and colors. but i didn't mind, the tea was quite savory.

the minute we started talking, something was on and we didn't really stop talking until the end of our relationship.( if it can be called that.)

Our mental chemistry was instantaneous and quite a powerful revelation. for both of us.

i was buzzing, with some strange energy. she was not what i anticipated at all. she was something else…

and this part about me and Stacie is the most difficult to explain and admittedly most compelling.

we clicked on a level, that was unprecedented before and we were pretty sure, after only 4 hours of talking to each other, that it couldn't be replicated afterwards.

simply put our minds were synched up. it was euphoric, dazing, drug-like.

it was a creation in motion. it was painting with words, it was sculpting with conceptions, it was housebuilding with meanings. and we were the authors. we were the hands. we were the architects.

we constructed and deconstructed architectures of meanings with a raw passion that can only come from within.(sounds cliche, right? but..yeah) this is what we loved. we loved it. Until than - apart, but now we found somebody who loved it on the same elemental level. who simply was like this. Had It. and together we had so much more. we had some interesting notes apart, but when we came together we had music. every time. together we could extend, we could transcend beyond our own possibilities and reach something new.

our every interaction was a wondrous mental adventure. and the anticipation was always charged with electricity. we just knew, when we joined our minds, we were bound to discover some hidden treasure, come up with something novel and fascinating, produce ourselves in a thrilling way.

we talked all the time. and i guess it was an excess that ruined us in the end, among many other things.

Me and Stacie - we loved words. to us words meant something much, much more than to others, we knew this. we loved words like thirsty person loves water. if we could eat words for food we would. in a way words were our food, clearly.

we deemed ourselves 'the word-addicts', tireless researches of meanings and unique combinations of meanings. and we surely did that. we created phrases, we dismantled them, assessed, assembled again. and again and again. it never seemed to drain us, on the contrary, it boosted our energy. it was our favourite pastime, our eccentric lust. it almost felt like you could touch it, it was that real and intense around us.

every time we came up with something, it would be with curious angle and unconventional shape, unknown perspective, unexplored feel. it was a delight, a high like no other.

i am scrambling with so many adjectives. like i said, this is the most hard part to explain about our chemistry. and since than i have long ago lost my love for words and my drive to find the perfectly right ones. i really don't have that desire in me anymore. that hunger. somehow.

anyway, that day, when me and Stacie left the cafe, it was evening, we talked till 2 am into the morning. we wandered around a lot, walking seemingly endlessly. already then, on our first date, we couldn't find the line, couldn't find the boundary to stop and contain our experience. plant it and give it time to grow by itself, removed from our unrestful hands.

our fundamental sin, i think, was our ignorance that silences were as important as talks, if not more.

isn't this so in music? what would melody be without a pause? endless cacophony of sound, senseless, overbearing.

but that was much, much later. until than we walked and walked aimlessly and tirelessly.

i don't remember much, what we talked about that day, it was a lot, maybe some of it even made itself into the letters we sent to each other later. i don't know, i should check. but there is a part i remember that apparently resonated starker than i noticed then. i remember that later we would come back to this subject numerous times. maybe that is the reason i remember it so well.

we were sitting in an empty aquarium, imagining orange fishes that could swim in the air.

what do you think about the first impressions? do you believe in them? - she asked,

i laughed remembering our first interaction.

not that you made a delightful first impression that day - she added with a smirk.

i thought a bit before answering:

actually, yeah, yeah, i do. i think first impression is the only impression. but i don't know, is it 'impression'.. i guess what i mean is first 'meeting' is what i would like to call it

yes! you got that, 'meeting' is a right word. 'impression' gives the impression of something shallower, it has, like this tone of depthlessness, you are right, 'meeting' is a richer concept, mmmm

she was chewing on the yellow, unhealthy-looking candy we bought on a whim (her whim) from a women sitting at the sidelines of the street. silently in my mind i hoped it wouldn't poison us.

i was actually thinking about that a couple of days before, i was thinking that first meeting in the last meeting, you know what i mean? at least that is how it is for me - i said.

mm, you mean like a trailer before a movie?

yeah, good, a perfect metaphor, a trailer to a movie, yes. like a preview of what will and can be. like i think in those 30 seconds when you first meet someone, everything that is ever to come, is already there, in those moments you already know all that is there to know, some of the scenes maybe change later, some plot may get distorted in the process, but the end result, the whole of it is already given.

i get what you mean about… it's the same for me when i first meet people, i look at them and instinctively i know what is there, who they are, what is their sense, like what kind of sense they make to me, yes, that's, that's definitely so, it is like i perceive them, not 'perceive', 'perceive' is the wrong word, more like take them in, like computer takes disks, and processes them, yes, i process them in my system and it checks their model and features and characteristics and matches them with mine, and that obviously tells me things i need to know later when dealing with that person, that's how it goes, but... i got side-stepped from my meaning again, - what i would like to understand is, what does the last meeting mean, like what do you mean when you say, that first meeting is the LAST MEETING, do you mean like, two people only meet once and never again, because i don't think i agree with you about that, i think two people can meet again, twice or even thrice and so on

her candy made that slurping sound i found uncomfortable. i decided i would be more careful eating mine (licking? my god).

listen, what i am talking about when i talk about meeting? like, let's deconstruct that. when there is 'A Meeting', there are two people right? so let's take that into consideration. there are two people means that these two people are someones, i mean, they are someway, they are some kind of existence already, like a tree, every existing tree is unique right? or like, a painting, that's a better analogue, so every person is like a painting and when two people meet, they already are some kind of paintings, they lived and experienced things and got to this point, they are made up of unique colors and shapes or whatever, i don't know much about paintings, so the meeting constitutes of these three things : first person, second person and the phenomenon of

but i think..

i made a stopping motion with my hand.

wait, i am getting there, the phenomenon of chance is the third. so the first meeting is the last meeting because, if the painting changes so much that you can't recognize it as the same, or relatively the same, can you say that you are meeting the same person?

so, i get what you mean, you mean people at the core stay the same, not taking into account the formative years, that's different yeah, and you mean after that, people rarely change in a way that would totally alter their main theme, or color palette or..

yes, you got it

so if it so happens that the painting is dramatically altered, when and if you meet that person again, it is not a second meeting but the first meeting because there is not that person anymore

yeah, approximately yes, roughly speaking

i still felt the lingering dissatisfaction with how i explained that, as usual, but couldn't find a better way than.

you have brought into play some very debatable ideas

i know

she was right, there were many uncertainties, but when were there not?

there is some rightness to it though, i think - she hummed to herself, digesting it still in her mind

meeting is a very complex subject, i don't think it can be covered so easily, like at all, or can it be covered at all? it seems so mysterious and at the same time somehow clear around the base

i know what you mean.

was our last discussion also about meeting? i wish i remembered. it must be recorded somewhere.

but more importantly can you ever un-meet?

could we?

and would i want to?

November 8, 2014

i was a bit sick. didn't go to work, stayed right in the bed, listened to some music, watched some crappy television, couldn't rest or turn my mind off.

why do i even listen to the music when i can't hear it anyway?

crappy tv was much better. it took my mind off some things. what a true blessing, you watch these stuff and you don't have to think about anything, isn't that awesome? my mind loves me!

let's see.. there is beating, and more beating, and ridiculous crisis situations, and guns, cocky, cool guys, who worry more about delivering their punchlines with enough sass and class, than getting the hell away from there, wherever that is, because the whole building is about to burst, but hey, they have plenty of time and point to make, okey?

it is beyond ridiculous, i love it, what is not to love? stupid shows are amazing. they are a true relief to my existence. i think i finally understand the meaning of millions spent on this idiocity.

and to think that i underappreciated them this whole time.. what a blasphemy.

November 11, 2014

so today was Jessica's birthday, but i was not feeling very social or in the mood for people at all, i am in the mood of absolutely no-people, sub zero. i feel like if i open my mouth and pronounce words i would scratch my insides.

so i ignored everyone's calls, and didn't even tell her 'Happy Birthday', cause i am a selfish jerk i guess, but just couldn't bring myself, to talk. and i know she wouldn't understand, it is socially unacceptable or whatever, i know how it goes, just sometimes, i am too far gone to care about that, or about anything really.

even from the time i was a child, or rather teenager, they stapled this label to me - 'strange', 'inadequate', 'broody'. cause i would shut down sometimes and just ignore people, and not answer when they asked me how i were or how school was. (you don't care, dude) and i tried to get away, but couldn't, cause there was some social gathering or some stupid event and mother demanded i be present. and i for the life of me couldn't understand why the fuck that mattered more than how i felt. why this.. social phenomenon weighed more, had such importance to anybody. i couldn't understand why i had to tolerate it, what was the meaning of it, why was i made to sit through graceless toasts and tasteless jokes, how did that benefit anybody? and they called me inadequate, because i didn't answer when i didn't want to. can't anybody see an irony? i remember i thought then: is this how adults live their whole lives? doing things they don't want to? cause, then i don't want to be an adult at ever.

but here i am, an adult in all common senses of the word, but as it seems, still retaining the so called 'capriciousness' of my teenager self.

i would almost feel some pride about it, if i could bring myself to care.


End file.
